


In Which Karkat is a Smol Angry Bean and Gamzee Adores Him

by Toastyquinn



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, By golly, Fluff, Fuckdammit, How Do I Tag, How much afterwards is anyone's guess, Jees Louise, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Rated for all of this atrocious language, Red Romance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6024292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastyquinn/pseuds/Toastyquinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You smile for a bit longer while he frowns at you. You try to fix it with your hands, but he just rolls them eyes of his and slaps your hands away. It’s more of a soft little shove, but you owe him enough to remove your hands like it wasn’t. You don't mind; he's always been a feisty brother, up until you get him into the pile. </p>
<p>You soon learned he was a cuddler, and when you scratch just behind his horns, bro purrs like a motor. Real cute motherfucker, your moirail.</p>
<p>You try to give him those special scratches, but he only hisses and bats at your hands again. So you pick him up. Screeching ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Karkat is a Smol Angry Bean and Gamzee Adores Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoSH95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoSH95/gifts).



> Some GamKar I wrote on Christmas Day for bae. They've already read it, but I thought I'd post it here anyways. Enjoy!

You drop the phone on the table, putting your coat on and moseying out the door with a can of soup. Your motherfucking pale-bro has managed to get himself all up and sick on twelfth perigee, so it's up to you to make him feel like his squishy, angry little self again. 

You zone out for a little, but when you come back, you have arrived at his motherfucking door. You guess your body directed you here without even needing to ask your pan. What a motherfucking miracle!

You knock a few times, but all you get is a screech from behind the door, so you just waltz on in. He won't mind, even though you don't care much if he does. Can’t really be getting himself all up to much feeling as he is.

You find him in his kitchen, face planted firmly on the counter. You come up behind him and hug him around the waist, your face splitting into a wide, miraculous grin. 

“Gee, Gamzee, I could have sworn I told your faygo guzzling, pie humping, Juggalo ass to stay the fuck home. And yet, your ass has appeared here, specifically to hump mine. I applaud your inability to complete simple instructions, shit-for-brains,” your wrathful little bean growls.

You drawl out, “Shucks, motherfucker. I’d never leave my bestest bro hanging. That just wouldn't be the right thing to do, leaving you all up and alone on twelfth perigee. We can still have some motherfucking fun up in here! I can make you some faygo cupcakes! Now those are a true miracle.”

You smile for a bit longer while he frowns at you. You try to fix it with your hands, but he just rolls them eyes of his and slaps your hands away. It’s more of a soft little shove, but you owe him enough to remove your hands like it wasn’t. You don't mind; he's always been a feisty brother, up until you get him into the pile. 

You soon learned he was a cuddler, and when you scratch just behind his horns, bro purrs like a motor. Real cute motherfucker, your moirail.

You try to give him those special scratches, but he only hisses and bats at your hands again. So you pick him up. Screeching ensues. You plop him on the couch, cover him with a blanket, turn on a movie, and head back to the kitchen. 

You start up on heating the soup, which of course happened to be red, just like your pale-bro. Luckily, you have some sopor on hand. It gives the soup some miraculous green swirls. Once the soup is hot enough, you dish that wicked shit into a bowl and set it in front of your brother. He murmurs some thanks, before settling down into the couch again.

You pick him up again, nestling up behind him and curling around him. What a small little dude. You bring that bowl of wicked miracles in front of him and feed him a few spoonfuls, which he begrudgingly eats. He starts nodding off after the fifth one.

Nonetheless, you cuddle your little miracle close, hoping the sopor and sleep will do him some good. Those things always work for you when you're sick, so you have no doubts they'll be fine for him. You scratch behind his horns; he purrs and snuggles closer. You think he enjoys your surprise cuddle more than he up and lets on.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry I haven't posted in a while!


End file.
